


play me like a love song

by raumschiffe



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detective Connor, M/M, hank meddles a little and needs to drink a lot, markus has a secret admirer oooooo, pianist markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raumschiffe/pseuds/raumschiffe
Summary: Markus Manfred is an up and coming pianist who finds himself the subject of someone's affections.“Great as usual, Manfred,” North says with a grin that mirrors his own. Josh and Simon’s faces have twin expressions of pride, and the three of them shepherd Markus towards the dressing room as quickly as possible, which results in the pianist nearly tripping on a bouquet of flowers right in front of the door.“This is certainly new,” North crows, sweeping the bouquet up. “Who would’ve guessed our Markus here would get flowers. And there’s a note!”





	play me like a love song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldplated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldplated/gifts).



> many thanks to the first friend i made in the DBH fandom, [inneraliens](inneraliens.tumblr.com), who helped me figure out most of the plot and cheered me on as i wrote!  
>    
> i love DBH a lot and i esp love my son connor i just wanna see him happy ya know. no time to get a beta bc i wrote this as quickly as possible. i needed to get this out of my system
> 
> title taken from troye sivan's [bloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41PTANtZFW0) which is honestly such a great song

There’s something exhilarating about standing before an audience that gives you a standing ovation after a performance, and Markus doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. The grin on his face stays well until he reunites with his friends after he takes a bow.

“Great as usual, Manfred,” North says with a grin that mirrors his own. Josh and Simon’s faces have twin expressions of pride, and the three of them shepherd Markus towards the dressing room as quickly as possible, which results in the pianist nearly tripping on a bouquet of flowers right in front of the door.

“This is certainly new,” North crows, sweeping the bouquet up. “Who would’ve guessed our Markus here would get  _ flowers _ . And there’s a  _ note _ !”

Before Markus could make a grab for said note, Josh makes a grab for the note with his stupidly long arms. “It doesn’t say anything aside from ‘ _ For Markus _ .’ And it’s signed  _ C.A. _ ”

There’s a collective ‘ _ooh_ ’ from his friends, and Markus uses their distraction to grab a hold of the flowers. It’s small and tastefully done, in hues of whites and pinks and greens. Simon hums contemplatively over his shoulder.

“It’s not  _ just _ flowers, too,” the blond announces. “They’re carnations and peonies - they symbolize admiration and shyness. This admirer must really like you, but they must be real shy.” At the rest of the crew’s simultaneous looks of disbelief, he adds defensively, “what? A guy can’t have hobbies?”

“Just surprised that someone would actually leave  _ this _ doofus a bouquet as elaborate as this,” Josh said. “Anyway, Markus, we can ask the lady outside the building about your secret admirer.”

“Someone leaves me a bouquet  _ once  _ and you all think it’s a secret admirer,” Markus scoffs, but the flowers actually made him feel pleased. He knows it’s obvious by the way his three friends share small smiles when he gathers his things, taking extra care not to jostle the flowers too much.

Once they made their way out of the concert hall, North all but drags them to the flower stall. The vendor is in the middle of closing up, but she stops and smiles at them when she sees the approach. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Josh gestures to the bouquet cradled in Markus’ arm. “Would you happen to know who bought this bouquet?”

The vendor takes a moment before nodding. “Yes, he’s not hard to remember. You know how people usually just buy  — ” she gestures to a row of premade bouquets “  — well, he asked for a pretty specific combination. Doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty cute too. I mean, doe eyes, dimples, and a baby face? You’re a lucky guy,” she winks at Markus, whose cheeks flush at the implication. He thanks the lady and ushers his friends to the curb.

“Again,” Markus sighed as they waited for a cab. “Just because someone left me flowers does  _ not  _ mean I have a secret admirer.”

“Keep telling yourself that — _ow_!” North pouts and rubs at her arm, where Simon punched her none too gently. “What was _that_ for?”

“If he says it’s not a secret admirer, then it’s not,” Simon states firmly. Markus is endlessly grateful for his intervention in the teasing. The pianist honestly doesn’t know if he can take any more of it.

“We were just teasing, but we’ll drop it,” North grumbles. “Anyway, we won’t be able to make it to the next concert, Markus. We’re a little understaffed at the outreach center and more people are coming in by the day.”

“You don’t have to my concerts, you know.”

“We’re your friends,” Josh says slowly, as if it’s something Markus can’t get through his skull. “We support one another’s endeavors. ‘Cause that’s what friends _ do _ .”

He feels a wave of warmth surge through him, and he thanks whatever higher being is there for his friends.

Once the three finally get a cab, the pianist goes to his car and starts on his journey home. The trip takes a while since he lives relatively far from the city, but since it’s late and there are only a few cars out on the road, he makes it home quickly.

Markus turns the lights on once he steps into the house. His footsteps echo as he walks to the kitchen, where he carefully places the bouquet in a vase filled with water. Puts it on the kitchen island and slips the card in his pocket for safekeeping. He stares at the flowers and contemplates how they seemed to fend off the deafening silence of his loneliness. Of the big, empty house he shares with no one after his father died.

Markus shakes his head, locks all of the doors, and heads upstairs.

 

*

 

Markus receives a barrage of texts from his friends, which he chooses to ignore in favor of peering at the audience from the side of the stage. Covered by the curtain, he can search to his heart’s content for any face that might have been at his last concert. He tries to find anyone who matches the vendor’s description, but aside from the young man talking quietly to a surly looking older man near the front, Markus couldn’t see anything clearly with the spotlight trained on the stage.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, and the pianist tries to tell himself that the feeling isn’t disappointment.

When he’s called onto the stage, he smiles widely and bows to the audience before taking his seat on the bench. The polite applause that greeted him immediately stops and a hush falls over the audience. Markus takes a deep breath, places his hands over the keys, and begins to play.

Unlike other famous pianists, he was no child prodigy. Markus learned how to play piano in the early months of Carl’s sickness. His father needed round the clock care, and Markus quit his job to care for him. Carl had protested against him putting his life on hold, but Markus stood firm in his decision.

There were times when his father didn’t need his immediate attention, and Markus spent most of it learning how to play the piano. It didn’t take Carl too long before he found out, and he encouraged Markus’ budding passion. He sat patiently and listened as his son learned. Markus knew that his father took as much comfort from the piano as he did.

After Carl died, he hadn’t dared to touch the piano. Every single note pressed brought a fresh wave of pain, but he didn’t stay away from it too long. After all, more of their happier memories revolved around said instrument, and Markus won’t let his bitterness get the better of him.

So he plays. They start hosting small fundraising concerts in the outreach center Simon started ( _ Jericho _ , it was called). Someone got wind of a talented new pianist and landed Markus several playing jobs.

Everything was good.

He put his heart and soul into every piece that he played, his heart bared for all to see. Light, fluttering notes echoed the chimes of his friends’ laughter, of a warm summer’s day. Darker, heavier notes were his loss and the feeling of being in a house as lonely as he was.

Markus finishes the piece with unnecessary flourish, and the audience leaps to their feet. He lets their applause wash over him as he bows and exits the stage. The pianist doesn’t see the young man that he spotted earlier exit as soon as he finished playing.

What he  _ does  _ see, though, is another bouquet of flowers. It’s still as unassuming as the last, but no less beautiful. Tucked amongst them is another card that says “ _ I enjoyed the show tonight. Thank you for sharing your skill with us    - C.A. _ ,” in the same uniform handwriting.

When Markus exits the concert hall, the flower vendor calls out to him. “It’s the same guy, if you were wondering,” she says. She’s teasing, he knows, but there’s nothing malicious in her expression. Just sincere eagerness. “You just missed him. I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

It becomes routine from that point onwards. Markus tries to leave the hall as quickly as possible every time without seeming rude to the audience. He just wants to catch his mystery admirer, that’s all. If he has to sprint to his dressing room like an idiot to catch his elusive fan, so be it.

Josh had suggested he leave a note where his admirer could find it, and Markus did exactly that. He taped an envelope to the door of the dressing room with “ **_For C.A._ ** ” written in big bold letters. Inside was a note asking  _ C.A.  _ that  _ if you want to meet, we could go for coffee after my next concert _ . There were two front row tickets in the envelope, too, but the pianist was devastated to find that only the note was taken. The tickets just sat there, quietly mocking him.

“So it  _ is  _ an admirer!” North crows as they exit the building, another bouquet of flowers nestled in the crook of the pianist’s elbow.  _ Carnations and morning glory _ , Simon pointed out helpfully.

“Have you seen him?” Josh asks.

“No,” Markus grumbled as they all filed into his car. North graciously holds the flowers in her arms as he drives. “The vendor  — Chloe, nice girl  — said I just missed him by a few seconds. I don’t know why the guy moves so damn fast.”

Their laughter and banter fill the air in the car as Markus drives home, but they quiet down when the pianist slows down far from the manor.

“Markus? What’s wrong?”

Markus leans forward and squints up at the manor, which stands like a shining beacon in the darkness. “I  — I’m not sure, but I know I didn’t leave any lights on before I left earlier.”

Markus approaches the manor as quietly as one could with a large, noisy SUV. Panic grips him as they get nearer, and he can see the front window had been shattered. The pianist hastily parks and all but runs inside his home.

It’s a mess. Most of his furniture are overturned, books and photographs scattered on the floor. The four, on high alert, cautiously follow the havoc leading to his father’s old studio.

_ No _ . Markus’ heart drops when he sees the door hanging open. Carl’s things are scattered on the floor, but that’s not what takes his attention. What he’s devastated over are the paintings, the last ones Carl made before he died, missing from underneath the tarp in the corner of the room.

He can hear Simon talking to the phone behind him. Police, probably. It doesn’t matter much to him right now. Markus picks up the tarp and stares at it absently.

North’s hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor. “The police are going to arrive soon,” she says gently. “Come on, why don’t we wait for them outside?”

It takes a while for the police to arrive, considering that Markus lives relatively far from the city. Officers and other personnel begin to secure the area and collect evidence, but an officer slowly makes his way towards the four of them. Markus takes note of the smart blue jacket and tie combination he wore. The officer’s badge and gun glint dully at his hip.

“Mr Manfred? My name is Detective Anderson,” the man says, sticking his hand out in greeting. Markus finds himself charmed at the enthusiasm in his tone. “I’m the detective sent by the DCPD. I’ll be heading this investigation with my partner.”

He takes the detective’s hand, warm and firm against his own. “Please, it’s just Markus. And thank you so much for your help.”

“It’s my job, Markus,” he replies, a small smile on his face. The corners of Detective Anderson’s eyes crinkle, and Markus is overcome with the need to brush away the hair that curls in his face. “Anyway, can you describe to me what happened here when you arrived?”

Markus recounts everything that he saw once he stepped into the manor. While his friends had their statements taken by other officers, the pianist lead the detective into the studio. There’s a furrow in Detective Anderson’s brow as he takes in the mess, peering here and there with a look of concentration. “Is there anyone whom you think would do this?”

“I don’t think s  — ,” Markus pauses.The detective looks up from where he was looking underneath the tarp. “It might be worth a shot to ask Leo, my brother. Before our dad died he would keep coming here to ask for money.”

Markus looks around to see if anyone was listening before continuing. “And, uh, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Carl’s paintings are worth a lot of money. Especially the ones that were stolen. Those were the last ones he ever made before he  — before he died.”

The detective hums and takes out a small notebook from his jacket. Something flutters to the floor, but he resumes speaking before Markus could pick it up. “Can you tell me how we can contact him?”

He gives the detective as many details as he can, and when they’re done, Detective Anderson nods and slips his notebook back into his jacket.

“That’ll be enough for today, Markus. We’ll have to secure your home for now since it’s a crime scene, so I’m afraid you’ll have to find another place to stay,” the detective said apologetically. “Officers  _ will _ be posted though, so you won’t have to worry about anything else being stolen.”

“That’s good to hear. Anyway, I’ll be staying with my friends for now,” Markus jerks his thumb to the general direction of said friends.

Before they turn to leave, the pianist suddenly remembers the piece of paper that slipped out of the detective’s pocket and picks it up. “Oh yeah, uh, you dropped your  — ,” Markus flips it in his fingers, and his heart beats a little bit faster.  _ Anderson _ . “Oh. It’s a ticket to my concert earlier.”

The detective looks positively  _ mortified _ about being found out, if the blush settling on his face was anything to go by. He swipes it out of Markus’ hands.

“Yes, well,” Detective Anderson clears his throat, opting to look at the ground than to meet Markus’ gaze. It makes him look extremely young, and Chloe’s description echoes in his mind.  _ Doe eyes, dimples, and a baby face. _ The detective fits it to a T. “I’ve actually seen a couple of your performances. It didn’t seem to be appropriate to bring it up here since, well, since someone broke into your home.”

Before Markus could open his mouth to speak, the detective quickly interjects.

“Well, we’ll run through the prints and talk to the suspects. You can drop by the precinct this week to follow up on the case,” Detective Anderson says with a tight smile. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, like he wants to escape. He turns on his heel to leave, but Markus grasps his wrist.

“Detective, please, I  — ,” The pianist stops when he see that said detective looks like he’s about to puke. Or faint. “I just want to thank you again. For helping tonight.”

This seems to set the detective a little more at ease, and he offers Markus a small smile. “Like I said earlier, it’s our job.” With that, he turns and positively  _ flees _ .

“What’s up with him?” Simon asks once Markus joins his friends. The pianist is as confused as they are, and he can only shrug in response.

 

*

 

Two concerts pass without any sign from his secret admirer, and Markus finds himself disappointed. If it really _was_ Detective Anderson, then he may have just blown his chances out of the water. Markus wants to talk to him, even under the pretense of asking about the case, but he doesn't want the detective to feel uncomfortable around him. After all, it’s only been three days since they last spoke.

On day five, the pianist finally gathers enough courage to drive himself to the precinct. Upon reaching the front desk, he asks the receptionist for one Detective Anderson on the Manfred break-in case.

The receptionist excuses himself for a moment and disappears into the office before returning with an apologetic expression. “I’m afraid Detective Anderson isn’t here yet. I can leave him a message, if you’d like?”

Before he could respond though, someone interrupts from behind him. “You Markus?”

“That’s me,” he replies. The old man’s long, greying hair tugs something in Markus’ memory. “I’m looking for Detective Anderson.”

“That’s me,” he replies gruffly. Before the pianist could voice his confusion, the older man gestures to Markus to follow him into the precinct. “I got those updates you want. You’d think that pricey paintings would turn up to be publicly sold, but your brother’s smarter than he looks. Apparently, he’s got private buyers lined up. It won’t fetch as high a price if he sold them in those fancy auction houses, but  — ”

“Wait,” Markus blurts out, grabbing the detective’s arm. The grey haired man raises an eyebrow at this then narrows his eyes at Markus’ hand. He immediately lets go. “What do you mean you’re Detective Anderson?”

The detective rolls his eyes and takes out his identification card for Markus to see.  _ Lieutenant Hank Anderson _ , it reads, clear as day.

“But the detective I spoke to that night was called Anderson, too,” he insists. The bewilderment on the older man’s face slowly morphed into understanding.

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . You meant  _ Connor _ .”

“Connor?”

“Yeah, baby faced kid, looks like a lost puppy all the time? He was dispatched to your place when your friend reported the break in. He’s my partner.”

_ Connor Anderson _ . Markus’ mind screeched in its tracks. Did he just  — did the lieutenant say they were  _ partners _ ? No wonder the older man seemed familiar, Markus spotted the pair of them at his concert the other night, heads bent together in conversation. No wonder Detective Anderson,  _ Connor _ , acted so strangely when Markus confronted him about the ticket. He had a  _ partner _ .

His distress must have shown because the lieutenant quickly backpedals. “Holy shit, not _that_ kind of partners! We’re _partner_ _cops_ — we’ve got the same last name because I adopted him _ages_ ago. _Jesus fuck_.”

Markus’ face burns up in embarrassment. He wants the ground underneath him to open and swallow him. “I  — I’m sorry! I just  — ”

“Stop talking!” The lieutenant barks. He sinks into his seat and buries his face into his hands. “I’m not paid enough to deal with shit. You got what you came here for?”

Markus nods furiously.

“Good. Now  _ scram _ .”

The pianist doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets out of there as fast as he can, but not without mumbling his thanks to the lieutenant. Markus doesn’t stay around long enough to see Lieutenant Anderson shaking his head and taking out his phone.

 

*

 

It’s been two weeks since his house had been broken into. Two weeks since Markus had last seen or spoken to Connor, if he really  _ was  _ his secret admirer.

The pianist tried look for him in the hall before  _ and  _ after he performed. He even recruited North, Simon, and Josh in helping him look for the detective, but he just stopped turning up. Markus was  _ this  _ close to giving up the fragile hope in his chest that he would see Connor again.

The pianist shrugs his jacket on and picks up his case. It’s not that late yet, and he promised his friends that he would meet up with them at the bar not far from the concert hall. He could mope about his secret admirer there.

He steps out into the chilly night air, but he doesn’t get very far before a voice calls out for him hesitantly, making him freeze in place.  _ Could it be _ ? His heart is racing, he knows, and he wonders if Detective Anderson,  _ Connor _ , could hear it. A warm hand touches him lightly on the back.

“Markus?”

It’s dark out, but the nearby street lamp illuminates Connor’s face clearly. His cheeks are flushed (whether from the cold or something else, Markus doesn’t know) and there’s something unsure in his expression, but what the pianist’s eyes are drawn to is the bouquet tucked in the crook of the detective’s elbow.

“So it  _ is  _ you,” Markus murmurs, unwilling to disturb the quiet between them. “Connor.”

The corner of the detective’s lips twitch in a valiant effort not to smile. “Markus.”

That’s all it takes before the pianist closes the distance between them and engulfs the other in a fierce embrace. Connor lets out a surprised  _ oof!  _ of surprise before returning the hug.

“I’ve missed you.”

The detective looks embarrassed at this. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t really get off work with all of the cases going on, and I had to make several arrests  — ”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Markus says, finally letting go of Connor. Their hands, though, remain in one another’s. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

A beat passes, and Markus couldn’t help but add teasingly, “and here I thought you were avoiding me.”

If it were possible for Connor to look even more embarrassed, he did. “That day at your home, I thought you figured it out already. I didn’t want to see you because  — ,” the detective looks away before meeting Markus’ eyes again. “I didn’t want to see you disappointed that your secret admirer was just  _ me _ .”

“And you’re more than I expected.” His nonchalant reply makes the other’s cheeks flush even more.

“I believe you said something about a drink after your concert?” The teasing tone in Connor’s voice is back, and he gives Markus’ hand a squeeze. Something flutters in his chest, like a set of high notes played in rapid progression.

“I believe I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it! any mistakes are my own and hopefully there aren't a lot of them (unlikely. i finished editing this at past one in the morning)
> 
>  
> 
> drop a comment or kudos or whatever and it will make my day! follow me on [tumblr](http://raumschiffe.tumblr.com/) and yell w me abt this game!! plus i post my WIPs there so hooray (i actually have another connor/markus fic underway!! i also made a [stan twitter](https://twitter.com/raumschiff_e) for DBH u can find me lurking as well on the discord server dsjfhds please be friends w me :'(


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